


Fidelity

by Niightmoves



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Based on a Dream by Jensen Ackles, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Character Death, Future Fic, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Impala Feels, Last Scene of Supernatural, Motorcycles, Sad, TorCon 2013, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niightmoves/pseuds/Niightmoves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At TorCon 2013, Jensen Ackles talked about a dream he had of the last scene of Supernatural.  Sam is dead, and Dean trades the Impala for a motorcycle because he only needs one seat (sad!) - He drives away on a long, lonely highway.<br/>This is the fic that came to me after hearing that sad, yet beautiful ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fidelity

Fidelity

 

The light played tricks this time of day- that short window of time when late afternoon turned to dusk and the reflections of the setting sun played off the rock formations in vivid purples and blues with garish slashes of oranges and yellows where the last of the sunlight hit the high points.

It was beautiful. The canyon laid out before him like a tapestry- a million different hues and textures that extended endlessly to the horizon, where it disappeared into the hazy distance.  Standing at the edge of the rim, Dean caught his breath with the majesty of it. For as many times as he’d uttered the word _awesome_ , now he could say it and really feel it.

He stood there; feeling curiously insignificant and small against the enormity of the canyon. His feet skittered on the loose rocks at the edge. Looking over as far as he dared, Dean could barely make out the river; over a mile below where he stood. He could almost believe he was looking back in time; a record of the history of the world- eons exposed in the layers of rock that were carved from the Earth over millennia.

The canyon endured. Through endless summers and winters, civilizations rose and fell, generations lived and died. The canyon remained eternal- bearing silent witness to the folly of man. Humans were just a footnote in the grand scheme of things. The canyon was ancient long before the first man, and would exist long after the last guy on Earth kicked the bucket.

Sam would have appreciated the hell out of that.

He looked over at the bike, parked a few feet away. It still felt foreign to him. The whole experience was just wrong. But it was also just right. He couldn’t ride another minute in the car without Sam. Turning his head every few minutes to stare at that empty seat- like a puzzle with a missing piece.

Sometimes he stopped for gas and found himself sitting in driver’s seat -waiting for Sam –and then remembering. The fourth or fifth time it happened he knew he couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t sit in the car that was the embodiment of their lives. Not for one more minute.

He traded it on the spot for the bike to the first person who showed an interest. When the Impala rumbled away he didn’t bother looking back.

He rode two thousand miles to nowhere important. Kept passing towns that reminded him of Sam. Once he rented a room in a motel they once stayed at, but left after fifteen minutes; the sour air making it hard to catch his breath. He rode until dawn that day, the whine of the bike his only music.

He stayed away from the no-tell motels after that. Each day was an endless routine of riding, sleeping, getting up and riding some more. He rode all the way to Maine, then after one look at the Atlantic, turned and headed west again. He waited for a reason to stop. None came. Then he saw the sign to the canyon.

The sun was nearly at the point of touching the horizon. It glowed like a giant orange ball.

It was time.

He reached into his pack and drew out the canister. Somehow he thought, with all his experience with death- that this part would be easy.  His hands shook, but he managed to pry the lid off, tossing it aside unceremoniously. It bothered him that the essence of a man, so much larger than life, could be reduced to such a small pile of ash.

He stood precariously on the edge of the canyon, his feet sliding over loose gravel. The canyon seemed to be pulling at him. Reaching out as far as he could without losing his balance, he shook the ashes out into empty space. The dust and ash glowed orange in the light of the setting sun as the downdraft sucked them into the canyon’s sleeping mouth.  He said no words or prayer. Everything had been said.

He saw a golden eagle ride a thermal up out of the depths of the canyon, riding it higher and higher until it was no more than a speck against the indigo sky. If he was a sentimental man…

He stood there a moment. The emptiness that sat curled in the pit of his stomach unfurled and evaporated. As he looked across the canyon, he felt a sense of peace settle over him.  Nothing could hurt Sammy ever again.

He turned and walked back to the bike. He got on, leaving off the helmet. Sometimes it felt good just having the wind in your hair. Starting it up, he turned back toward the road, revving the engine a little.

About five hundred yards from the canyon, he turned the bike- sitting there, idling.  Looking up, he saw the blanket of stars and remembered how they used to sit on the hood of the Impala together. Without city lights, it seemed as if he could see every star in Heaven.

Revving the engine, Dean put the bike in gear and left a strip of burnt rubber as he drove straight toward the canyon. He thought he could make it to 50 by the time the tires met air. When he reached the canyon’s edge, Dean sailed out into the void- his arms outstretched- head back and eyes closed in repose- letting the arms of the canyon embrace him as he flew.

With a rustle of mighty wings, an eagle lifted from a rocky crag and headed for the sky.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, Jensen, for an amazing writing prompt.  
> In reality, it's easy enough to fall off the edge of the Grand Canyon. If you visit, take care.


End file.
